my father was the best man i ever metand the worst.they took one of the cars he wreckedfrom school to schoolblood and hair in the broken windshielda demonstration of why not to drive drunk.he thought that story was hilarious.when he lefthe came back for my brotherbut not me.i’d watch them drive awayin his pale yellow mercedes.i turned 16 and he bought me an old volvoto drive to community collegebut he used my mother’s money. he was like that.we spun out in the high school parking lot,me learning stick,laughing.he swore a lot. i swore even more.i cut my hair off and got a girlfriend,we didn’t talk til i was 25.he sent me an apology, pages and pages.i called him, told him i had bought a new car.a stick shift is better.we started mailing poems up and down the coast and he got one about autumn published.when my daughter was born he said,that corolla is too small.he bought me a brand new silver subaruthe car i always wanted.he drove it from san diego to oaklandand arrived in the dark. he turned on its lightsand tried to show me all the features at midnight.i was holding his hand when he died.the rattle choked offand that was itthere was only the sound of an enginein the distance,someone taking the turn too fast.